Story time
by Hound424
Summary: One-Shot story ideas centering around our faviorite white-haired Loud, in a variety of different genres and plots: from magic, sci-fi, steampunk, etc...some will make it as full on stories and some won't. Now! Story time...
1. True Monsters

**You know writing is fun and all, but when I just want to focus on a certain chapter for a certain story, but then a thought-just one itty-bitty thought pops in your head and soon your overactive imagination takes hold and you say "No, no, no, NO! I'm focusing on this story, you can wait." But NOOOO, it doesn't freaking wait and your here trying to make it go away and...**

 **Sorry...venting and stuff right now. I'm pretty sure y'all had moments like these before, right?**

 **Alright here's the deal. This... _story,_ not really a story, but a multitude of them really. Each and every single one of these are unique, and are ideas that never really left my head, so I decided to write them here. And I'm going to do this...**

 **Some will make it...some won't...it's up to y'all to decide. Some will also be random whatever's.**

 **Sci-fi, fantasy, modern, etc. doesn't matter.**

 **Alright? Alright, good...**

 **Also, I'm going to have the titles of each chapter be the titles I came up for these maybe stories.**

 **Now! First up...**

 **True Monsters...**

 **Genre: Fantasy mixed with Dieselpunk elements...**

 **~oOo~**

Damn! Damn it all to hell, then resurrect it with dark witchcraft that only the elders, banished, or creatures of night such as the Vampires would know. Especially...damn her curiosity...Lucy just had to not listen to what her parents, even her older sisters, have told her countless times. Hell even Lynn, of all people, told her and she's the only one who boast how she can't wait to knock some skulls, wreck havoc on those-those monsters! Seeing what they did to that poor girl and her village first hand, with her own eyes...Lucy nearly threw up as she watched as her legs dangled, tears flowed like a river from her rapidly paling face, and the snap...that horrid snap...all those humans...

...their laughter...their hatred...their sole desire of this genocide. Why?...why here? WHY THEIR LAND! THEIR HOME?! HER HOME?! What drove these fiends here?

Man, mankind, or simply: humans, as they call themselves. But from what everyone in these lands calls them: Monster. Genocidal monsters from hell. Land-grabbers, nature killers—the damn list goes on and on, and in different tongues as well.

Forcing her legs to move faster, her breaths burning within her budding chest, sweat slipped and fell from her pale skin, forced to move aside her midnight bangs to see fully, purplish-black eyes in an understandable panic. Using her magic to move aside leaves and branches and seal and wrap around each other as an improvised barrier from her pursuer, but it did nothing to stop him as she took a quick peak behind her shoulder and saw him slice the branches with ease with his saber...a saber that has, without a doubt, slaughtered some of her kind and so many others as well.

Leaping past a stack of loose stones, pass the small stream, she led the both of them into an open field. It was so full of life, life she is pretty sure his kind has no understanding of as all they know is destruction.

Lucy used this adrenaline fueled moment to remember how it all started. The stories her elders have told the younglings. She remembers clearly, her's and so many of the other children's shock at how these strangers have no magic whatsoever. Not even a hint of prophecies, or spiritual summoning. Nothing. Yet it became more confusing as the tales of the first humans to step foot continued.

Spew fire. She was certain that was magic, but she was so wrong. Her grandfather told her how the invaders called it a gun...gun...just saying the word felt strange. But the terror it brought on others as their magic could not stop the agonizing pain and death these weapons could cause. Then more...so much more: Cannons, bombs, horses, trains, it never seemed to end as they conquered and purged everyone and everything without a single care and that scares her.

But her fears grew as she heard tale of a foggy green smoke the humans have harnessed. How it leaves discolored bumps and leaky warts all over the body as the victim convulses; seems that he or she is being strangled by an unknown force. How it does more than kill intelligent life, but also forces the flora to decay and shrivel. She saw them as just that: stories. But...to see that hell with her own eyes...she just wants to go home and forget this, but she can't. He's close. And he has the intent on ending her life under his boot.

"AHH!" With her attention solely set straight ahead and not on her feet, Lucy slipped on a lose, thick root of a mighty oak, falling directly on her right shoulder, the girl gasped and cried once more as her leg twisted, though not snapping, she is sure it's twisted...she's stuck...prey...she's now but a wounded, feeble, animal to this hunter...

No...

NO! With quick thinking she lifted her right hand, runic markings of an intricate design glowed a vibrant, pulsing violet, her eyes as well, and with gritted teeth she yelled out a series of words in a language the human had no real idea if it's real or made up. His body tensed, he drew both his pistol and sword in hand as the surrounding foliage, roots of trees, branches and rocks float and glow a violet hue. Morphing, twisting, taking a humanoid shape.

In front of him now stood six figures, each the same in shape, size, and movements. Heads morphed into the shape of buck deer, branches acting as horns, black pebbles as eyes, and multicolored leaves as the skin. Vines and other random twigs and more branches combined and wrapped around the other as ribs, claws and protruded from the spine as quills.

With a voice like the wind blowing between the ears the first of these creatures lunged at the human with the goal to protect its mistress and bring harm on this violent species. The others soon followed.

With a roar of his own the human male brought his body back, twirled with practice ease, pivoting on his foot the young man brought his revolver between the eyes of the spawn.

 **'BANG!'**

Lucy flinched from the small roar the weapon let out as the trigger was pulled with her spawn's head torn off; leaves, twigs and rocks alike scattered across various directions as the spawns body collapsed on itself. Yet the others did not falter as they kept with the attack.

 **~oOo~**

Ripping his sword out with zero real effort, Lincoln growled as he kicked away the child of this damn witch that thought she could bring him down with these 'COMPLETELY PATHETIC' creations of hers. He's seen better, stronger, and scarier, but he has to give her credit...quite a unique design, but all style does is waste time.

The Bluecoat smacked the butt of his revolver right on the top left side of the spawn's cranium, leaving the creature dazed as he simply kicked it over, bringing it on its back and jabbing his blade right where the breastbone is supposed to be. Spits on the ground where it dissolved into the foliage from before.

Before destroying the last three he quickly glimpsed at the fallen form of the young witch a few feet away. With a low, barley noticeable smirk on his face, Lincoln wanted to chuckle from the mere sight of her fearful expression as she is forced to watch her hastily made guardians fall one by one from a superior opponent, but he knew better than to be cocky in a time like this. Anything could happen.

His right boot met with such great force the spawns "ribs" broke into tiny pieces of bark and wooden shrapnel, flying a good three feet before it "died" from its wounds.

Witches. He snarled inside his mind as he recalls the trouble, pain-nothing but death these creatures have brought upon the people. For years the settlers of these lands—the new world—have tried to live a life of peace, finding and creating families, but these creatures and many others of god's mistakes have done nothing but waged a nightmarish plague of their savagery on humanity.

 **'BANG!'** And a quick decapitation before he set his sights on the final spawn. Running full force the creature jumped higher than a lone human like him could even manage. Lincoln frowned at its stupidity as he saw the perfect opening, simply pulling back his sword he lunged the weapon forward like a spear!

 **~oOo~**

Lucy quivered in fear at the monster infront of her, his gaze matched hers as her eyes couldn't leave his. Blue...nothing but a vast sea of blue, well more like the sky, but...they held no compassion—actually no emotion at all as he looked down at her without breaking his perfect posture, no doubt he was trained well from his stance and combat skills.

Maybe he's from the human lands...Lucy remembers the stories of ambassadors and even slaves who've escaped from the clutches of man. Her awe and so many others were great as they were told the vivid imagery of giant structures, metal buildings that puff black smoke, lights, but not from fire, but from switches of sorts. These strange horseless carriages with wheels in the front of the rider, roaring as it came to life from a lone key. Architecture and arts they never thought possible as handcrafted stone statues of winged humans stand proud upon their homes.

But the awe was also mixed with disgust at how dirty they are. Throwing to not even attempting to clean their filth, burning piles of trash, crowded, and no life of nature whatsoever as it's replaced by pollution, more waste and snobs.

If he is from those lands then she knows her time is up. Humans from his homeland are known to be ruthless, no mercy, and are only sent to make sure the job is done...that hanged witch from earlier was that job and so was her village...Sualer...she knew that village...over two hundred of various races lived their...the green mist and fires raged as the humans picked off any who dared flee with their rifles.

Why?...what did they do to deserve these soldiers of the devil himself?...

Lincoln raised his sword, watching as she closes her eyes, a stray tear leaves her as she shakes, but accepts her fate. The young man has similar thoughts as Lucy had moments before.

Primitives, and violent animals. All her kind and so many others have done was raid, kidnap, and murder every little settlement they create in the hopes of their colonization of these lands. Leaving children orphaned as mommy and daddy die in front of them from be it draining of blood, curses, or being eaten alive from these children of the underworld.

 _'Why do these monsters exist?'_ Both Lincoln and Lucy thought at the same time as he prepared to bring his blade down but a sudden powerful gust of wind pushed him back, the Bluecoat meeting the hard ground with a grunt.

"Lucy!" A multitude of cries, mainly female, registered in his ears as he got up, sword and revolver in hand as he saw the interesting and unwelcoming sight of other magic wielders, predominantly witches as he saw one warlock glare at him after he checked over the pale one...Lucy he thinks.

Soon they all glared at him...

Hell hath no fury like a woman's scorn, pfft—try witches. Whatever, he shrugged. He knows he's outbeat in this fight, hell he even sees what's no doubt the mother holding the hand of a child, maybe eight or something years old. Blonde like some of the others and the youngest in the pack. Each one were burning holes in his direction, but he gave no shits as he sheathed his weapons and...walked away.

Wait what? Those were the collective thoughts of the Loud family, but one particular member voiced hers.

"Hey!" The red clothe member called out, but Lincoln didn't listen as he kept on walking without a care anymore. "Don't you leave! You have to pay for what you did to my sister you asshole!" She sprinted towards him with speeds deemed inhuman—which she was.

"Lynn!" The eldest of the sisters called out to her as the others voiced her to stop, but Lynn was already closing in as the metallic braclets around her arms pulsed a red hue and morphed into a pair of twin Seax blades.

Leaping to the air. "RRRRRRAAAAAGGGGGHHHHHH!" Her battle cry displayed her ferocious attitude and thirst for an ass-kicking of the human who nearly killed her kid sister.

Lincoln sighed, and with trained skills, pulled out his saber and met the young witches strike.

 **'CLANG!'**

Lynn was brought back to her feet and was taken back from this human's strength as, though he buckled under her more superior force, he held on without any strain to show. Her grin widened, she waited for a moment like this. She's going to beat this asshole to submission and parade him back to her village like one of her many trophies from before.

Lincoln kept his expression neutral—no emotion. He saw how cocky this witch was, so he had to fight smart. Both she and him pushed the other back, she did most of the pushing as Linc had to find his footing. Lynn placed both her blades over her shoulder as she looked down on him with smugness.

"What? Ohhh~ someone's mad," she teased.

Lincoln narrowed his eyes. _'Don't falter...Don't give her encouragement...'_

Lynn circled him. "Alright, I'm gonna kick your ass, ok?" Her damn smile never left her. "Good boy."

Lincoln kept his gaze on her and with a breath, he spoke, "Game on..."

 **~oOo~**

 **And that's a wrap...**

 **So there's that: True Monsters...**

 **Idea: In an alternate Earth, HUGELY alternate, humanity would sail and discover a far land, the new world as they call it in the east and set their sights in colonizing it. Bringing their problems and greed with them. Humanity would learn these lands are inhabited and magic exists. Fear would spread and distrust and hatred between the foreign invaders and natives would grow into toxic levels as both would fight the other.**

 **The natives have knowledge of the lands and magic as a whole, but humanity would have technology far ahead anything they ever thought possible as they don't know what the lightbulb is, or that the Earth is round. Alongside hundreds upon hundreds of years of war in its belt, man would not fall so easily.**

 **The idea is that Lincoln is not a Loud, meaning he's not related to them whatsoever, he was born human in the homelands of the human race in the western side of the world. Joining the ranks of the Bluecoats he would see combat against human and nonhuman alike as he fights to protect the settlements and the colonizers rights, soon making his presence known as he meets the Louds later on.**

 **So that's that.**

 **Wonder what I'll come up with next, who knows?**

 **Till then...**

 **Hound, out...**


	2. Of the crows

**Alright! Idea two of this little fic of mine.**

 **This one I had in mind for quite sometime. How long? Well long before I even started on writing and was just a common reader in this site, so yeah...**

 **Anyway, this was actually inspired from Bioshock Infinite—if you haven't played it, then do. The inspiration came from one of my favorite vigors: Murder of Crows—that power I fell in love with instantly.**

 **I hope y'all enjoy, or don't, doesn't really matter in which really. Leave a review if y'all can.**

 **I know how old this topic is, but ya got to admit it does give a lot of us a good premise for stories and the such; some good others...yeah you guys know what I mean by that. So this takes place after No Such Luck, but don't worry, it won't be a sob story or "You don't love me!" Type of crap. In this, Lincoln has gained some badass powers, but he won't be a hero, nor a villain, with it he has grown happy, but also emotionally detached...**

 **Simply...he doesn't care...**

 **Now! Story time...**

 **Of the crows...**

 **Genre: Modern and...uh...I guess magic or somethin'...**

 **~oOo~**

 **Royal Woods**

 **Loud House Residence**

"It's yours and yours alone, kid...have fun and good luck..." the old man simply said as he gazed down on the convulsing form of the ashen haired boy who's body never ceased in its seizure like state, eyes wide and in panic as tears streamed from his lids, a combination of drool and foam leaving his mouth, spraying and hitting the grassy ground in globs from the hacking.

"Heh..." the corner of his lips lifted up in a hint of amusement as this sight brought back memories of his first time. The raven perched on his shoulder cawed as he turned towards the black sky, the only natural light source was the moon hanging above. Thanks to that light he was able to make out the small creatures as dark, or darker than the night itself...

Crows...nothing but crows. Their cawing at levels as great as this would drive any normal human being mad from the consistent nerve racking noise...but he wasn't a normal being, nor was the eleven year old boy under his feet. He raised an eyebrow, then nodded as he saw the sight of black feathers appearing and disappearing from his hands in a blink of an eye.

The crows surrounded Lincoln as all he can do is go through this ride of agony and change. He wanted to scream—a scream that would put both Lola's and Luna's to shame, the former from her tantrums and the latter from her gigs and plain old rockin' jams.

He couldn't breath...a combination of a mysterious force strangling his windpipe and his own drool mixed foam clogging his breathing tube—not even taking in air from his nose elevated his need for fresh air.

As if he was possessed by the spawn of Satan itself he lost whatever control he left of himself as his chest was heaved forward—as if it was reaching towards the black sky! Black feathers mysteriously covered the spot his elevated back had previously resided in during this internal hell.

The crows cawed louder...

The old man grew bored from the pathetic sight of the boy. With a low sigh he clasped the flask close, placed it within the dark confines of his leather jacket, twirled his oak wood cane and stepped aside from Lincoln. A final glance over his shoulder was all he gave the boy, the raven still perched on his shoulder but multiplied as two more appeared; one on his other shoulder and the third on top of his grey hair.

"I'll leave ya to it then," he said without a care, but with slight yawn as the need for rest fell upon him. With a parting wave, but not even turning back, "Just remember, Linc...you wanted this." His small steps echoed when his boot clad feet touched the sidewalk, "Goodnight...don't let the bedbugs bite, heh'..."

Lincoln was now alone with the crows...

He still couldn't scream. Only the sounds of his gargling, cawing, and him thrashing on the ground was soley audible he was surprised no one came out their houses to throw a shoe in the sky in the attempt to shoo away the black avians.

 **'CAW!'**

Silence—a sound foreign to this young Loud as he witnessed all the crows be silenced by an older, bigger and far more powerful one that gave out a mighty scree, showing its dominance. Out of nowhere the pain faded as the convulsing and grinding of his limbs, stinging of his muscles and crackling of his bones ceased...he felt nothing...absolutely nothing...not even emotional...he felt no numbness, no pain, nor stimulating pleasure. He did not smile, not even a frown or a panic stricken expression of fear—he was passive, and in awe, tilting his head with the movements of the larger crow in the middle as it hovered above him.

 _ **'Master...'**_ a high pitched little voice registered in his ears, yet he didn't jump.

 _ **'Master, Master, Master!'** _They chanted in sync, wings raised, feathers fell and covered his being like a warm blanket of pure midnight that tickled his pale skin from its soft feel.

On and on they never ceased this singular new cry. The larger crow extended its wings, locked its eyes with the eyes of its new master and flew down, fast as a bullet it needed Lincoln. The boys vision grew darker as his breathing grew more faint, sweat rolled down his face as all he saw was black and a squawk

 **~oOo~**

 **1 month later...**

 **Royal Woods Rooftops...**

With legs dangling dangerously close over the ledge of a fall of over hundreds of feet if he made one wrong movement or, you know, for the hell of it, decided to jump. As wrong as that sounds it's nothing really new to the ashen haired male Loud. Though the thrill of falling has dulled after the...what?...56th or was it 67th time? Eh who knows, who cares.

With his orange and black backpack resting on his side, Lincoln lazily gazed at the cities skyline with impassive, half-lidded eyes. His sky-blue iris's have dulled in color from the once vibrant blue they held sometime ago, now an almost yellowy hue was slightly added in the mix, blending in with the blue creating an almost green tint.

Around him were nothing but crows—a common sight, and a great welcoming one at that for the boy as they simply perched close to him, landed and fighting over who gets to rest on his head, shoulders and knees, or just circle the lad, waiting for any movements he would show and soon follow.

Lightly, Lincoln shuddered from the cool air of the November winds blowing on his frame, pulling his hair and jacket in its harsh breath. Black feathers continuously flew from his white locks—where they came from...who knows...he decided to stop questioning and just accept. To add to the strangeness was the fact the feathers emitted from his being dissolved as they either touched the ground of the roof or were over three feet away from the boy.

The way they flew was also unnatural as his shadow was seen to be possessing wings that grew and shrunk in size from the nonstop blowing.

He can't believe it's been just one month since he acquired his gift, and no one was non the wiser of it at all, but he's pretty sure he has turned some heads and caused the spread of new rumors throughout the school, but his attention was on his own family...he wonders...nah, he shouldn't worry, he told himself...they don't know anything and if anything is sure they will be dealing with their own lives and get to him in the very end, so he can wait...patience is key after all.

Suddenly, he felt the rough, but familiar sensation of claws on his right hand. Lazily he looked down at the lone crow idly resting on his limb. Curiously it gazed up at its master. Red crimson of the very bodily fluid that courses through the living coated its beak, little droplets spilled and painted his hand in the warm, sticky, irony blood that assaulted his nostrils, but Linc didn't react negatively as this nothing more than a common sight to him now.

"Looks like someone was hungry." He chuckled when the loose strands of flesh hung loosely from the edges of its blood stained beak, swaying back and forth from the wind and both of their movements, creating streaks like a brush on his white skin.

 ** _'Master,'_** quickly snapping his attention on a little crow flapping its wings, an inch from his face, eyes glowed white like heavenly purity.

"Time?" Lincoln questioned.

 **' _Time_ ,'** it confirmed.

Lincoln nodded and gave a light sigh, he was no really looking forward to another day of dreaded school, but his grades are top priority, and he mustn't disappoint his family...not like they'll care after his sisters show them their achievements in classes...oh well he shrugs.

Life, eh...

Nothing more than a complicated mess, but life is good right now for him, even if others see differently.

Standing fully erect, feet right on the ledge, backpack safely clinging on his back, the boy closed his eyes and with a quite sigh...he fell. The crows followed. The winds blew harsher than before on his free-fall form, more and more feathers left a trail behind him, dissolving and reforming behind him. Opening his eyes, half-lidded expression never leaving him, the crows surrounded him, covering him in their wings, never ceasing in the cawing he found melodious. Morphing, shifting, breaking apart—his body did all three at once as the birds opened up and in the center flew a smaller flock, backpack being held between multiple beaks, but Lincoln was nowhere to be found in this flock.

 **~oOo~**

 **Royal Woods...**

 **School...**

 **Football field...**

Overlooking the multitude of children coming today for another boring, long, day of classes and learning of subjects none of which were ever going to use in their lives, unless they wanted to be scientist, or engineers in life or some other profession of the like. A murder of crows flew swiftly in an orderly fashion over to the barren football field.

Coming together in a closer fashion many of the crows dissolved as the feathers that came from their masters body earlier. It continued as so when they came together and hovered over the field a good few inches in the air, taking a human shape Lincoln soon landed from the shroud of dark birds, stretching as he moaned from the cracks and loosening of cricks in his back and neck.

"Thank you," he said as he caught his backpack from the hovering shroud. Like the rest they dissolved as if they never existed in the first place.

Slinging his pack on the Loud sighed, "Another day..."

 **~oOo~**

 **And that's a wrap...**

 **Idea: The idea came after I watched No Such Luck and so, Lincoln was soon aprouched by an old man who sympathized with him, but also laughed at his situation as he saw it as entertaining.**

 **He offers the boy power, but it's Linc choice if he wants it, and he takes it as he feels he wants more in his life. Taking it he sips on a flask and suffers a pain he never thought possible.**

 **Later he will learn he has the power to control, summon, and morph into crows, but the power has made him slightly emotionally detached, and continues to do so little by little.**

 **But the power is his and his alone...he can do with it as he pleases...**

 **Alright, that's the end of that.**

 **If you like it, thank you. If ya don't, eh' it's just a one-shot after all.**

 **Review if ya'll can...**

 **Hound out...**


	3. A Bastard of Royalty

**Hence the title of this one-shot, there is some meaning towards it, or something, I don't know, I'm just going with the flow as I'm writing this crap.**

 **Alright, in all actuality a part of me would actually like to maybe, one day, make this into a full story, but for now it's just a one-shot, so here goes nothing, eh.**

 **Tell me what y'all think in the reviews, and I hope to bring you guys more later on whenever I can.**

 **Now! Story time...**

 **A Bastard of Royalty**

 **Genre: I'm going for a combination of Steam and some Dieselpunk, but with added extras in the mix...there might be magic—MIGHT.**

 **~oOo~**

 **Wynnrun, Tollum**

 **Chime 10th, 1856**

The gods above could only watch in disappointment as their children tear the other apart as the streets burn from the haze of anger, hatred, and screaming as those unable to get to cover in the mob filled stonepaths are shot down as glass rounds speed through the air, a white streak left behind from the smoking barrels from imperial and rioter alike, chests imploding, bones shattering, and blood vessels rupturing from the burning white rounds ending one another's lives respectively in this horror show.

Or maybe it was joy and glee as the gods of destruction crafted by mankind's crazed imagination of making sense of this world, could only make bets on who would win this fight as they no doubt maniacally laugh as they watch humanity does what man does best; simple human violence and the such.

Oppression does that to anyone really, but one for thing is sure; the reaper will not go empty handed today. What an interesting start towards what was supposed to be a beautiful morning as the songs of birds are muffled from the cracks of rifles, the morning lights beaten by the raging fires from the shops and buildings alike as imperials are tossed in forcefully to burn in hell.

Terrorism they called it—just them being here is an act of terror itself. For years the natives of Tollum had to live under their boots and lick their soles like obedient puppies wanting a nibble of real food and not that slop they toss away without a single fuck given. Living under the _kindness_ of the royal crown, as they gorge themselves silly from the foods none have even tasted, nor ever will.

Tollkies they were called. Lincoln snorted from the mere thought of that derogatory word. Hateful it was, but funny if repeated many times that mouth becomes tongue-tied from over usage. The young man shrugged away the thoughts as he took aim, a perfect shot from a perfect vantage point. Feeling the lush winds blow in his hair as the scent of smoke and iron assault his senses, yet he does not falter once. A common smell and sight in his line of work.

At times he wonders if the gods are real. Maybe they are, judging him as we speak. Looking down with disdain at the ashen haired male for his crimes and red stained hands and blade. Yet they punish him and his own and not the dogs and whores that raped this lone isle for its goods and recources, the men and women seperated from the other as the latter had their babies snatched away from their hands as they are sent off to some isle, under a cruel master until a beating so grave they drop dead or take their own spark themselves.

The slave trade may be over, but the feel they are nothing but that still burns bright. Unable to be given the chance of self-governance, leaving behind some Duke—a Loud Duke at that, and the bitch in office as she claims to be there for her people, but in reality is no more than puppet on strings being tugged every few seconds.

Do the gods pick favorites? Pulling the trigger his Narsaa rifle, an old weapon, but still gets the job done, kicks slightly against his shoulder, the bullet flies leaving behind a dissipating white streak thanks to the Glass coating the inner layers of the round, hitting its mark as the lone imperial feels dismemberment when his entire right arm socket rips apart, tossing him down on the dirty grounds, agonizing wails muted by the viscous roars of rebellion.

Maybe they do. But truthfully he doesn't give a fuck. There was a time, yet things change as people do too. Time is such an intersting concept ain't it?

Continuing on, he took the time to sway the sights of his weapon over the people, wincing slightly from the sight of a woman repeatedly thrusting a kitchen knife on some poor bastard, amazed at the sheer force a man placed on a rifle of his own as he used it like a club splitting apart the skull of his bitch under him with arms risen in a pleading motion.

His attention was soley set on the white marble stone building housing his target: Duke Dreadmark Loud, and her _lovely_ mistress Araya Treal, the handpicked mayor of Wynnrun.

His blade thirsts for their blood...

But he must await for his cue, but, in the meantime, Redrick Hall is being taken cared of as fire-bottles crash and burst into awesome flames with mixed Glass leaving a white hue that never seems to get smaller, instead brighter and hungrier. Bullets and homemade explosives chip away the handcrafted structured, soldiers taking potshots are forced to duck down from rounds meant for them as others like Linc fire away from rooftops. A well thrown impact grenade blew apart a part of the balcony, throwing away the imperials on-top like rag dolls.

SPLAT! On their allies!

Morale was breaking, panic and self horror as even children were apart of this savage display of resistant. Many couldn't even handle the fact they just ended a child's life that a few broke down in a mental war of what's right and what's wrong. Officers left a bullet on their own as they didn't follow through with orders.

Lincoln felt a surge of pain in his heart from the mere sight of youngins' losing their lives in a fight they have yet to truly understand, leading to him to aim and fire on their killers kneecaps, leading to a sudden fall of anguish and slow leakage from their new—as he calls it—fuck holes.

No child should suffer, yet life just doesn't want to go along with the rules man has tried many times before to install, but broken themselves so he called hypocrisy and being a complete dick on both sides. Weird thing is...he doesn't who is the bigger dick; life or man?

Taking in some more free shots until he was spotted, fingers pointed as they retaliated, ducking down when the rounds tore away the shingles and brick edges, raining shards on those below he broke out a fit of chuckles from the sheer chaos.

"Not so stable now, huh Dready?" His smile never left him as he continued to insult the Duke and his bitch on a leash. Linc knew it was a matter of time before the explosives went off, leading towards his chance.

Feeling a beep resonate from his headset, the young man tapped on his left side, pulling down the mouth piece as he spoke calmly, but loud enough to be heard through the noise.

"You got it done?" Flinching and ducking deeper down from a too close for comfort hot piece of speeding lead taking a few strands of his white locks, a few muted curses left his lips.

 **[Uhh, ya mind repeating that?]** He caught the playfulness in her voice.

Growling, "Hara."

She broke out in a fit of giggles. **[Just fuckin' with ya, Linky. Don't be so pissy. Heh' and I thought I was bitchy.]**

You got to be fuck—"Im sorry, but I'm getting shot at right now!"

 **[Eh' what's new? Anywho...yeah. It's done. Line should be coming in about a few actually.]** a low sigh of relief left him.

"Nice. How'd it go one your end?" He asked.

He heard her hum for a quick second. **[Meh, meh and meh really. Some asshole here, an asshole there. Couple bullets, sliced a few throats and Manuel had to much fun with his baby...so yeah...but...]** she paused, Linc swore he heard slight...fear? In her voice.

"But?" He questioned as he took a quick peek and returned fire before falling back down in cover.

She sighed. **[Nearly got torn apart from a Guardsmen and his sword. Fuck, his Glass nearly got us...lucky that his neck piece was faulty and I could hit his throat, if it wasn't...shit...]**

Having faced his own fair share of Guardsmen, Linc knows what it's like to go toe to toe with those monsters. A literal game of who can vivisect the other with their blades clashing against the other. Glass pulsing and spraying in white mist tangling around their forms and leaving a sweet taste in the air...yeah not fun...he slightly shuddered as remembered his first Guardy.

Shaking his head. "At least y'all made it."

 **[Yeah—Hon!]** she yelled

Wincing from her cry. "Ow. Yeah?"

 **[Rail-Line should be pulling up now!]** Linc perked up and saw just that as he took a peak, a dangerous grin etched on his face. Quickly he pulled up and secured his orange bandana, and placed his rifle on the ground in tandem as its weight would only hinder his movements. His sidearm and blade is all he needs.

Just as the riot has begun to die from the massive loss of life, the mechanized rail cars above the air came into sight. Unbeknownst to the imperial troops was the ticking clock-explosives left behind. The Glass powered transport machine, thanks to Hara and her crew, was rewired into stopping right where it'll hurt. And with attention on the remaining fighters, pulling away wounded, and the dying...this is gonna hurt...

Oh ya...

The result was massive as a kinetic force pushed nearly everyone away and onto the ground as fire and pulsing white energy ignited the sky in an array of flames and falling debris slicing apart, crushing and burning away the exposed skin of imperial soldiers who tried to run, tried being the word, but her mercilessly shot down from the Wynnrun natives. Many rejoiced with battle cries, rifles raised to the sky, and roars of victory resonated throughout the northern section of the city.

Lincoln immediately leapt into action, bounding over the rooftops as he released a high pitched whistle signifying the riflemen on-top their respective roof to commence with the next faze. Without hesitation they took off into the fray.

Destination: Redrick Hall.

Feeling a familiar beep **[Linky, keep me on, I want to hear what happens.]**

Smirking. "Yes, ma'am." With a quick flip, and a graceful landing, the twenty year old took in the devastation as the Rail-Line tore apart huge chunks and birthed new holes throughout the building. Light fires picked up and many more men and women in uniform were stuck in petrified death from flying shrapnel. Looking down quickly he caught sight of the people kicking away the last of the resistance, soldiers were forced back inside, yet the doors proved useless as they were blasted apart from the mighty force of wolves in human form.

Green eyes set soley at the cracked window ahead, closer and closer from every impressive leap across the buildings, never faultering once from the hard landing, his boots cushioning the force of his heels. From the corner of his eyes, black wires shot out and pierced the upper floor outer walling of the hall, those picking off the bugs from the ground zip-lined with rifles slung over their shoulders and blades in their mouths.

With immense physical force the young man glided through the air, spinning in place like a yo-yo as he neared and crashed through the glass barrier, hitting the ground and tumbling until he stood upright from the fast paced movements. Shards fell from his hair and shoulders. A familiar twitching sensation ran through his entire being like th _e_ addictive drug it is, making him feel as tiny bugs were running along his skin, heart racing from anticipation as the pit of stomach felt the roars echoing throughout the halls as bullets rung out and dead and dying cries mixed with the clanging of blades.

He made it. So it ends. Perking up from the hollers coming from down the corridor of the elegantly made sights infront of him. In a quick fluid motion he unfastened his sidearm, the repeating firearm armed and ready for bath of red paint, his right hand swung from his hip. A sleek, wooden, cylindrical object gripped between the palm of his right hand. Molding perfectly with the crafted grip between his fingers.

Sprinting headfirst towards where the sounds of feet smacking against the wooden floors, the entirety of this buildings structure was mapped in his brain as nights of constant studying the stolen blueprints proved fruitful.

The head imperial swordsmen, sweating and full of blood stains from the crazed fight downstairs, growing in height and renown fury as he looks upon the intruder with immense killing intent he does not hesitate to remove his blade along with his underlings as they have too desire for his death.

Linc does not stop, and in a quick motion he twirled the sodden handle that the bottom spit open showing off quickly the mechanism within, and like a switchblade, the hidden metal from within extended fully out, a full blade in display. A slight jump in step he met the head swordsman, the clanging vibrated throughout the corridor, shaking the two adversaries as their teeth slightly rattled from the force.

Hara's voice sounded out from the fray, clear excitement from her joyful tone. **[Aw, yeah! Bring on the hurt! Kick some ass!]** In all actuality he isn't really surprised she just blurted that out in his ear, while he was busy making sure he didn't get sliced, stabbed or punctured repeatedly, though these guys are nothing more than reckless, pride filled, dogs, it's the fact he was fighting a one v four match did not help as his attention towards every movement was needed, and SHE SCREAMED IN HIS FUCKIN EAR! OW! Got to hate high pitched voices.

Skewering his first victim, blade breaking apart his ribs as the sleek metal tore through his left lung, gaping mouth as tears and blood flew from his mouth when the twenty year old kicked his corpses away and brought his blade down on the unguarded shoulder blade of another. If he didn't have his bandana his lips would be coated in a red coat as his tongue would taste this mans iron.

"RRRRAAAAAGGGGHHH!" Eyes darted, letting go of blade as the man fell on his knees with gritted teeth, eyes wide as they twitch in rapid motions from the searing pain of a shattered shoulder blade, sliced vessels, and a slow darkness creeping.

Sidestepping the raging imperial who lost his footing from the blood on the floor, as he fell, Lincoln had his pistol aimed and fired quickly, the Glass rounds left the chamber and raped the man in fast sessions that he had no time to yelp, scream or squeal. A familiar sweet smell fermented through the air, emanating from the still corpse as white wisps of smoke leaked through his new fuck-holes.

The last swordsman shook in increasing fear, yelped, and nearly lost his grip of his weapon when green eyes met his brown. The feeling he should piss himself as his only defense mechanism grew from the monster infront of him. His mind haunted from watching his own team fall one by one like they were nothing but worthless dominoes in a child's hand.

He had no time to make a single sound when the bright flash of light met his face, a raging roar resonated, his brain shredded apart from within his skull as the bullet threw him away with no real effort.

At least he took pity by making it quick.

"Wasting damn time," Stepping back to the dead fuck stuck with his sword. He growled when he heard Hara giggle from his attitude of the situation.

With a sigh, placing his foot on the still corpses chest and yanking with full force, a wet squelching crunch broke out as the weapon pried out his shoulder, a few fragments of bone and blood flew on his clothing.

Hara winced. **[Ooo, sounds like that hurts.]**

Linc snorted, "Hurt like a bitch too." Looking back at the intense expression of agony on this asshats face before he bled out.

 **[No duh.]** Rolling his eyes with an amused smirk on his face the young man broke out in a light jog, pistol holstered, but sword still in hand, he listened. The rumbling of destruction and human screaming vibrated through the walls and the old buildings interior. Downstairs all the fighting took place as the rioters stormed the halls, leading a band of rebellion.

No doubt word has spread as the kingdom's inner isles gained the current scoop of Tollum. The real question is how the royal family would react. Linc has no doubt Ol' King Lynn would make anonther oh so important speech of unification, its importance, and that we mustn't fight against our _dear brothers and sisters_...Fuck off. The mere words spewing from the tongue of that coward makes Linc want to bash his own brains on a tabletop.

Don't get him started on his whore of a queen and their ten bitches. Living under the lushness of their riches as people like him are forced to watch their own suffer from the cruel rule. The years of falling under the watchful eye of the crown had gave way a new fight that had brewed for too long now.

 **[They sound angry.]** Cutting across a left section of the winding halls he hummed in agreement when he too felt the raging emotions.

"Who can blame them?" He answered simply, continuing on with his journey, listening as Hara hummed in agreement. The ashen haired lad was near, but he slowed his pace to the point he was taking slow steps as he felt a strange sensation fall on him as he heard...grinding? A part of him told him to prepare for a fight, but why? What's coming? Until it hit him as he concentrated towards the source and reality him like a shit ton of bricks on his back.

"Sonava—" unable to finish his sentence when the origin of the grinding was infront of him, examining him in analytically as it immedialty growled in an inhuman mannor, reassembling more that of a machine as that is what it was. A machine.

A Marionette to be clear. The hulking combination of gears, wires, and metallic plating twitch every second, his body shook in anticipation knowing he must fight his way past this machine of death. Another _grand_ creation of the kingdom's equally grand minds. Say thanks to the innovation of Glass. As amazing as that stuff is, it's not fun having to be on the receiving end of the spawns of science.

 **[Whats up?]** A bitof worry evident in her voice. Linc gripped his blade tighter to the point the sweat coated the hilt in its wet substance, its eye pieces glowed a heavenly white, yet held no intentions that derived from the mere word heaven. Mechanical thinking process soley dictated by the grinding gears and scraping nuts and bolts holding them in place in its head.

Right arm extended, a low ticking sound resembling that of a clock sounded.

Raising his blade, finding his balls the twenty year old brought one foot infront of the othe. "Marionette." And another, and another.

Teeth gritted, he made it too far to be stopped by this hunk of junk.

 **[Wha—A MARIONETTE?! Linky—]**

"Hara." His movements sped up to the point he was running towards his opponent. The machine extended a full blade from its arm, a pulsing white light glew and coated the air in the sweet smell of Glass coursing through its "veins".

 **[Linc—]**

"Trust me." In a full on sprint he pressed down on a hidden button on his handle, igniting the Glass within as the crystallized substance surged through his weapons blade. Flowing like a coursing river on overdrive through the runic markings etched in a various of wrapped around patterns on the blade. Nothing but white that just grew in brightnest.

The machine did what's it was supposed to do and retaliated, both blades met and resonated as the clanging brought with it sparks and white bursts of energy pulsing out in various directions both man and machine. Linc was pressed down as his human muscles did not stand a chance from the mechanized unfeeling strength of his attacker. As he gritted his teeth, it did not react, sans the increasing twitching signifying battle mode.

Glass powered weapons left behind massive white streaks of arches, swipes, slashes and diagonal attacks, fading quickly as its replaced by another quick movement.

Dancing away in his fluid trained movements, Lincoln ducked and weaved madly in fashions dubbed stranious and could lead to immense injury towards another not trained in intensity. White strands of his hair flew away into the white faded smoke as every stroke of its blade grew closer from every pivot of his foot he made in tandem to meet the clock-soldier in its frenzy fueled objective to dissect the intruder and assassin of all he is, leaving behind a puddle of entrails that it knows flesh bags hold within them.

Sweat flew off his brow, backflipping a good foot away, Linc removed his sidearm, took aim and fired away in perfect sessions; the Marionette was pressed back, a Loud screech made him grit even more in pain as it raped his eardrums.

 **[SONAVA FUCK—OW!]** That hurt too—seriously what's with people and now machines yelling in his ears lately? Hara groaned as she cursed in her native tongue from the sheer volume of the screech, as she swore she heard a bit of jagged sheet metal rubbing against the other violently.

Pressed back, navy-blue painted chest plate filled up with new holes, leakage of white vapor spilled through the ruptured metals as light-green liquids dribbled onto the now scrapped, and chipped ridden floors, seeping deep within the crevices of the floor boards.

Lincoln heaved slightly, chest tight and the cool feeling of his own sweat gripping against his own clothing as his orange dress shirt was matted in his own bodily liquid. Bare-arms, covered in an array of scars of various shapes, shook from the achey sensation. In the time he took to recover, he pulled back up his left sleeve as it fell and covered his arm, subconsciously rubbing his hand over his red suspenders.

His enemy faired no better. Easily it can be seen—after all these years of technological innovation—nothing is perfect. Watching the Marionette convulse slightly in the attempt of self-repair, out of place like a child's wind up toy that just doesn't shut up in its ticking, left arm raised; cracked, chipped and falling apart, raining down shards of porcelain mixed metals. Lincoln laughed mockingly at the grand-inventor who oversaw the production of these newer models: Princess Lisa herself.

A geniuses toy pushed to the brink of faltering into the brink of a meltdown from a person of average intelligence like him. Of course he fucking laughed.

 **[Uhh...why are ya laughing?]** Hara was ignored as he took a step closer, raising his blade higher, feeling the burning sensation of his muscles screaming—begging to stop and rest as they cannot continue on with this fight, but he pressed on. He called the shots, not his muscles. Glass still burning with renowned furry.

Activating its reserves, the Glass powered mechanized, gear-soldier broke out of line first, dashing towards him, destroying the boards from the raw power of its double-split feet. Lincoln shook his head and roared, ducking underneath a savage slash aimed for his head in the desire of a quick decaptation, he took the few seconds of recalculation by jabbing his blade into its uncovered knee-joint! With the combination of his raw power and Glass the joint ruptured as wires split and went a-wire like a seizure, spritzing electricity and the same green liquid all over his clothing and the floors beneath them.

Raw singed metal and porcelain shattered, its body fell onto its right side, the force all together damaged its sword arm that it opened and closed in rapid sessions to the point the machine has lost near to total control of its appendage.

Standing tall, Lincoln raised his blade above his head, right for the exposed neck.

"Told ya." Completely thrusting his sword the Marionette ceased its movements! Totally silent, sans the continued ticking, it's eye pieces went off and on like a light switch discovered by a toddler.

 **[Heh' shut up]** A smirk graced his features, yet hidden by his bandana. Removing his melee weapon, Linc raised his right foot, aimed for its head, stomping on the vulnerable attachment, obliterating everything! All functioned ceased, but Glass residue left its corpse...like a soul...

Breathing in, he snorted in a loud manner, feeling a clogging sensation in the back of his throat, the sticky substance of saliva coming back up he hocked up a loogie on the dead machine.

 **[Grooooossssss]**

"Heh' lets get this done..." whistling a low tune of an old lullaby his mother had sung him many times before as she tucked him in when he barely reached her knee, Lincoln swung his blade lazily around the air as he walked casually down the corridor and spun right.

 **~oOo~**

 _'By the gods, by the gods, by the FUCKING GODS!'_ Losing every inch of his shit mentally and physically as he pushed his arms onto his desk, hands running through his light brown crazed stands hanging off every known direction, Dreadmark was nowhere near calm as he continues on to he haunted from the resonating cries of battle traveling up the vents and into the office of the woman standing by the corner.

A Duke, a Loud, royalty he was as he held the Loud bloodline through his veins. Gifted the control overseeing of Tollum by his dear uncle, the King, but not without the assistance of his father in whispering into his brother's ear. As much as Dread cares for Lynn, the man is too soft that even his own father and others wonder as to why the past monarch would choose him to lead.

Mutts and whores—nothing more than pathetic Tolkies! And yet here he is, fearing for his pathetic life as the doors breaking apart brought in a new wave of panic that Arraya had no choice but to literally smack his ass back into reality.

Shifting his gaze, beautiful she was as she was loyal towards the crown and all Lorelei, even if she was a Tolkie. He gulped from the blade in her hand, runic markings he couldn't but hold a bit of curiosity towards, etched throughout the serrated metal, like so many, yet these were Tolkie blades...extremely unique in every sense that he has caught his dear genius of a cousin studying the design for future projects.

Even with Arrya, he still felt the fear surging through him... and he should...oh yes he should.

"HALT!" Both leapt into attention as they heard the head-guards muffled voice call out to an intruder. What came next was a few seconds of silence and a drop in temperature as the sounds of gunfire, metal clashing, skin ripping, cloth tearing, and gagging on ones fluids met their ears...

Time seemed to freeze...a final thump was heard, signifying the failure of their defense as blood pooled through the door, growing in size to the point the white carpet was changing into a shade of red. Arraya aimed her weapon right at the door, the woman was prepared for a fight.

Dread coated, Dreadmark's air(ha! Get it?) the Duke knew whatever was out there was soley focused on him and him only. Time and time again he and his father, cousins, even his mothers side of the family would joke and look down upon this whole ordeal, claim that these rats have no means of fighting as they are no more than primitives today as they were when this isle was first colonized.

Oh how wrong were their words. Dready has seen first hand the state of this lone territory—having his work cut out was an understatement—it was a whole new world compared to any other isle—even the capital. Bleak, hard, and seeming to carry nothing but a cold demeanor as outsiders are given the well known side glare, reminded so much of a dog waiting for any sign movement.

Their fighting style. All unique and powerful. Frightful when combined with their customary usage of Glass. A devastating attack from any direction. Call him as you want, he did what he needed to keep these mitts in control. If it meant a good beating, a body dumped in the drinking reservoirs, a child taken away and forced to witness mommy or daddy to an inch of their lives—so fucking be it!

Dready found a renewed strength, glaring disgustingly at the white door, yet that all went away as he yelped back from the sheer wretched noise of wood being sliced, an overly large pump of force brought his heart to shudder and dig deeper behind his rib cage and smack to command its idiot to run and run fast as well as far, but how? Where will he go? There is no way...

 **KABOOOOM!** TOTAL OBLITERATION! Dready was thrown back, lifting his arms instinctively in the attempt to shield away the massive blast that created nothing but dust and debris flying across the room, particles of hardwood descending to the ground like pockets of snow in a cold morning in winter. His eyes watered from the stinging dust suffocating him, witnessing head on the feminine roar of his defender as Arraya's blade was consumed in Glass, he felt his ears ring worse from every new sound of blades scraping the other in the attempt of total victory.

It was like literal two dogs were duking it out, like in the pits of the underworld canine fighting rings as he swore he heard both growl at the other—nowhere near did it sound like a noise a normal human could create. He knew his attacker was male, easily inferred from his growls that only grew louder and deeper that brought him discomfort that strangled his innards in shock and awe as he witnessed the mist of debris slowly fade and the two genders dance a show of sweat, blood, sparks, and Glass.

Like the pits; a ferocious bitch and a wild mutt.

It was almost like the epic plays he and his family would watch during times of relaxation, or the need to show face when he was just a mere boy. The graceful flexibility of the female as she dances around like a professional ballerina, quick strikes as her rapier slices through her opponents clothing, droplets of blood flying through the air. Yet she was nowhere near victory as she met her match, his movements were strong, unpredictable, and brutal; constantly changing directions as he threw, with his free hand, vases, large chunks of spilnters, and even the lamp at her. The latter broke apart on her left shoulder, forcing her back from the surprise attack.

Dreadmark, he has held a sword, but never has he spilt blood, still felt the inner training kick in as he looked on in pure displeasure at the cheap tricks the white-haired intruder has partaken in this brawl.

Yet Lincoln held not a single fuck as he was deadset on victory—fuck honor, glory. FUCK A FAIR FIGHT. Life is not fair, so why should he with this traitor. The feeling was mutual for the other as all Arraya saw was a terrorist that needed to be hanged for his crimes and multiple counts of murder, and Lincoln couldn't agree more. He knows what he's doing is wrong—vile even! But what else could he do with the intoxication of their rulers?! They tried protesting, but were met with rabid dogs, bludgeons, swords and guns!

They brought this war when they landed on their shores! Who wants this kind of life? Watching as mothers hold onto their starving babes; frail and weak, fathers drinking away their sorrows from hours upon hours in the mines and factories, children learning the ruthlessness of life and the cruelty of man before they could even read a single verse.

Yes he's a terrorist! So what?! With a powerful roar he left-hooked Arraya, spit covered blood flew from her mouth as well as a lone tooth, unable to recuperate, Lincoln tightly gripped her shirt collar, pulling her in as he head butted the bridge of her nose! Breaking the sniffer, a waterfall of blood spilled, his forehead coated in red marks that slipped down his wrinkles of aggression.

With an arm on her sword arm, twisting the appendege to the point a cracking sensation went through her, burning pain when she felt that her bones were splitting, she let go of her weapon when he twisted up. All in one motion he brought his blade up! Dismembering her forearm! She did not scream, nor did she cry, instead she growled. Brown eyes set on his with a renowned burning passion of hate and a woman's hellfire. She held onto him, left hand pulling on his dress shirt. Her stub was immediately cauterized from the swift cut.

 **SPHLICK!** Eyes widen, Dreadmark pissed himself. Erratic breaths came and went, the foreign sensation of his blade piercing her, a low gasp left her lips when he twisted the handle, grinding against her lungs, yet she did not cry, he respected her for that. Still holding tighter on his clothing, eyes never leaving his as her right orb twitched, a creeping blackness filled the corners of her vision.

Lincoln slouched over to meet her ear with his covered mouth, whispering, "I win..."

"Heh'..." Arraya smiled—chuckled even! It was a fantastic fight, he really pushed her over the edge, and she knows when she's beaten. Finding the fleeting strength she gave the man a small smile, taking a breath, exhaling, the result was white smoke flowing through her mouth, through even the slight gaps of her teeth.

 **SHLUNK!** Removing his weapon, her body met the floor with a "thump" Lincoln looked down and said his prayers as she earned it. Fought to the end and took it with as a joke...a smile...not like a cowards fearful of the inevitable. That's what made them so different from the others.

With a final sigh, deactivating the Glass, and pressing the same button as it folded his blade back into its closed form, his sights were set on the coward infront of him, shaking like a little leaf in a howling storm, a slight wet spot where his crotch is.

With a step Dreadmark began the same old same old. Begging for his life. Yet Linc will have non of that.

 **[Linky?]**

"Hmm?" Removing his sidearm, checking the chamber, listening to every word of pleas and soon insults and racist slangs from the Duke who still thought he was in-charged.

 **[Please make em' shut the fuck up.]**

Taking aim, Dread reverted back into a state of panic, rambling how he shouldn't do this, how this isn't the way, please, please, please over and over again to the point where Lincoln began to lose his patience.

"No problem."

 **BANG!** Squealing like a piglet having its balls removed with no anesthesia, Dreadmark fell onto the ground, a gaping hole on his chest, voice dying quickly and soon replaced with gurgles of blood choking his windpipe, seeping from his lips, heaving up and down. He's scared...it hurts...

Lincoln stepped around the corner of the desk, looking down lazily at the man still holding on. He's stubborn he'll give him that. Aiming the barrel of his weapon directly at his cranium. In the mere few seconds Dread has left, what he saw shook him to his core.

Green. A green that he knows only a few posses, a trait passed down from that bloodline, belonging to her bloodline. Irises that he knows a few of his cousins hold. But these...his eyes...were exactly like her's—the queen!

 _'Rita?...'_

 **BANG!** The silence came back, the bullet casing ceased in its spun movements, and the echoing roars from downstairs shifted now into victory and cheers as Lincoln let his ears take it all in. His emerald eyes tired, half-lidded, the plan a success, the message is sent by the time meets the ears of the aristocrats of the death of the Duke.

Bringing himself over to the seat, he sat, the leather molding against his body giving him great comfort as the stress in his lower regions were evident as he groaned in relief, kicking his feet over the other on top of the decks, hands folded and resting on his stomach, the young man just stared at the white ceiling.

 **[Tired, hon?]** In response Lincoln laughed and laughed, she always had something to say.

"A little...how was your day?" It was her turn. Hara giggled, the mere sound brought back a passing happiness into his system.

Thus their cries were heard, the real question is how they'll respond...

 **~oOo~**

 **Revally, Lorelei**

 **Chime 12th, 1856**

There are times where Rita would be lost soley into her thoughts in the most interesting of moments, and these are one of them. Feasting on her savory meal on this fine morning, the suns rays always radiant and bringing with it a beauty well known in this land. Lorelei, as far as she knows she has instantly fell in love with this piece of history, lushness, and blessed by nature's kindness, as much as she fell for her dear husband, Lynn...

Yet Rita still lives with the guilt at how she was unfaithful to her beloved just twenty years ago. What started out was a night wanting to cut loose, finding her way towards Tollum, a glass of wine here, a glass there...a whole bottle or two...and the commoner who had his way with her. She cannot deny that the sex that night was beyond anything she has ever experienced, and she already had birthed her's and Lynn's daughters beforehand.

Guilt and longing, two emotions she knows well. Guilt stemming not from the fact she cheated, but from the very reason she had to protect her son—yes a son—a great surprise it was as she learned she was carrying a boy than a girl, a pleasant one at that as Lynn danced with joy, but the joy left as she knew time was nearly up. The boy looked nothing like her husband, nor she, but he carried her eyes. Forced to lie and have him sent away...it hurt more than one can imagine.

Longing...oh how she wants to see the day of at least seeing her boy, how he is—anything please. What hurt most was the fact she had no time to bestow him a name...a nameless half-blood, yet he still carried the royal line of her part of the family.

A bastard he was, but still a prince.

All she could recall of him were his emerald eyes, few white strands, and his adorable yawns.

Continuing on with her munching, the mother looked upon her children, daughters, ten in fact, each going about their morning like her; dressed in lavish clothing, few with jewelry, catered by the surrounding servants, rolling her eyes as the twins, both fifteen, bicker about...whatever it is today. Her second youngest, Lisa, at thirteen, was droning on and on about her new finds and current experimentations to her father on the advancement on newer Marionettes and other robotic machinery.

Yup, just another morning...

Until the doors burst open with a heaving messenger barging in, stricken panic on his face, and immense urgency that the King stopped the guards from attacking.

"Your magesty!" He blurted out, startling the youngest, Lily, the ten year old princess was held by her elder sister, Leni, the beautiful twenty-five year old reassured her with a smile, yet she too faltered.

An eyebrow raised, but concern seeping into his voice, "Yes? What is it?" Lynn demanded, voice stating not to bullshit him with anything wasteful.

With his breath caught, "The Duke! Your nephew! Dreadmark! He-he's dead!"

Total silence...even the servants and guards had no words or sounds to express from such horrid news.

The king shook, his other daughter, named after his own name, Princess Lynn, spoke, "What?" She whispered, Leni had her hand in mouth as Lori could only look on with wide eyes, everyone set their sights on the messenger.

Gulping, "De-dead...he's dead..."

By the gods...

 **~oOo~**

 **And that's that!**

 **A part of me actually wants to make this into a full story.**

 **Leave a review and tell me what y'all think!**

 **Idea: In a massive alternate Earth, the world is divided and powered by an energy source known as Glass. The Loud family is that of royalty as various kingdoms and empires span the world, many more characters will be of royalty as well.**

 **The idea is that Lincoln was conceived out of a one-night-stand from his mother, the Queen, going off to the isle of Tollum, drinking away and soon fucked by a random commoner who got her pregnant with him.**

 **Sent away to live his life in Tollum, unaware of his own mother or history, all of Tollum is in a rebellious stage as they fight for independent rule from their oppressors. Joining the fight and trained in the way of terror and swordsmanship.**

 **A burning hatred of the crown and their allies, Lincoln Tavvers, wages a war for his islands freedom.**

~oOo~

 **I was inspired by a lot of things.**

 **Alright!**

 **Hound, out...**


End file.
